Splash of Colour
by Ava Chanel
Summary: Of course. Of all the people in the 'verse, he'd have fallen in love with a gorram whore. Mal/Inara.


**A/N: **_I've actually got a story thing going on in my head. But, before I start it, I still want to experiment with Mal and Inara and writing their characters. So, expect a few more little one-shots in an effort to prep for my big damn story. As for this, it was an idea that came to me after Inara left Serenity and Mal's steady decline emotionally because of it. You can see it in the movie and I just wanted to delve into his head for a little. Enjoy. _

"Some call love a curse, some call love a thief,  
But she's my home,  
And she's as much apart for this broken heart, but see,  
Broken bones always seem to mend..."

- Devil's Tears, Angus and Julia Stone

**Summary: **Of course. Of all the people in the 'verse, he'd have fallen in love with a gorram whore. Mal/Inara.

**Splash of Colour**

He ain't had no need for so much colour on his ship, anyways. 'Sides, it'd been long enough. He figured he could make use o' all that space. Plenty o' cargo, plenty o' haul and it would make a decent enough hiding place for stolen goods if the Alliance ever found 'em in the middle of a job. So he'd set to work.

Malcolm Reynolds weren't no fool, though. He could see the looks his crew'd been givin' 'im before he headed in that direction. They all knew what it was he was up to on account o' the fact that he ain't been there ever since...well, ever since he had a reason to be there. But that reason ain't been on his ship for quite some time now and it sure as heck weren't 'bout to come waltzin' back in. Kaylee was the only one with enough _qiú _to question what it was he was doin'.

"Capt'n, you sure 'bout all this? I mean, what if she-"

He cut her off 'fore she could even finish that sentence and inflict that gruesome emotion called hope on him, "No, _mei-mei_. Ain't got no time to be thinkin' 'bout an 'if' situation. Only got to worry 'bout now, and right now, we're hurtin' bad for extra cargo room."

He could see the protest on her face, know it was just there, on the tip o' her tongue. But the young mechanic didn't argue and part o' him almost wished she had. Then again, he almost wished anyone woulda stopped him. Someone to reassure him and to tell him; 'she'll be back, you'll see'. But it seemed the only one sayin' any o' that to him was that ruttin' voice in the back o' his no good head. Fine thing he was just 'bout used to drownin' it out at this point.

Mal stood outside o' the closed door o' the shuttle, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms.

This was the right thing to do.

It needed to be done.

He'd left it for far too long and it was 'bout time he got her off his ship once an' for all.

With that on his mind, Mal opened the door to the shuttle and stepped inside.

He was instantly met with the comfortin' smell o' incense, tea leaves and her subtle perfumes, almost like she'd never even left. Gorram woman sure liked leavin' her mark on his ship. Most o' her things were gone, though; the fancy bed sheets, all the candles, her l'il trinkets and souvenirs that used to decorate the place. The ones he never really understood why she kept. Gone. Just like her. What she had left behind were them colourful drapes and curtains that gave the place a piece o' her identity. Golds, rich reds, forest greens and lush violets. It was a homey touch. Made the ship look less like a piece o' shiny metal and more like a companion's bedroom. Mal grinded his teeth together. She was still here, in his gorram shuttle, servin' as a constant reminder o' what he'd lost.

More of a reason to get rid o' all of it.

He reminded himself o' that, positive it was the right thing to do.

Ignorin' the subtle pain and the ebb o' his no good conscience, Mal began to bring it all down.

The heavy material fell easily into his arms, dust comin' offa it as well as the smell o' incense. The silk and cashmere were probably the softest his skin ever felt. But down they came anyways, revealin' more o' his ship and less o' _her_. Some o' the stuff was awfully heavy and he could understand why she'd left it. Too stubborn to have asked for his help, the damn woman would rather have let it go to waste. Unless she'd left it on purpose, makin' him cling to some ridiculous idea that she'd be back for it someday. Like a fool, he'd fallen for it. Assumed she jus' needed some time, a l'il bit o' space away from him. Soon enough, she'd come back. Maybe even miss him, the way he missed her.

_Bèndàn_, 'course a woman like her 'd never miss someone like him.

All those months, all that time. Not even a wave. Not since he'd left her on that planet. He'd heard nothin' from her. Not a gorram thing. And what'd he care for, anyways? She was just a whore, after all. Ain't no use in pursuin' a woman like that. Besides, there were plenty o' fish in the 'verse. Surely he'd manage to find one with a better career choice. Maybe even one who'd think o' him as often as he found himself thinkin' 'bout her. Wouldn't that be somethin'?

Her stuff piled up awful quick. It all came a tumblin' down until it was just sittin' on the floor in a giant heap o' colour. Stood out against the plain silver of the ship. Jus' like her.

If it were one thing 'bout Inara, it was that she always did stand out.

His breaths came in laboured, his chest heavin' from the effort. He'd broken into a l'il sweat takin' it all off. He wiped at his forehead and took a seat on what used to be her bed. Just a bed now.

He wanted to laugh at himself, at the fact he jus' couldn't seem to fight no matter how many pep talks he gave himself.

Ya see, it didn't matter how many damn fish were in the sea. Didn't matter if there were a pool o' special ones with fancy scales and pretty lips. Ain't none of it mattered because, at the end o' the day, he wanted the one that got away. O' 'course, of all the people in the 'verse, he'd have fallen in love with a gorram whore.

He stared at the remnants o' her, lying on the empty floor. They'd have fetched him quite a handsome fee, he knew that. He brought his hands to his sweat ridden face and clasped them together over his nose and his mouth. With that sorta price, he could keep the ship runnin' even in between jobs. But he'd much rather throw the _lèsè_ away, right outta the airlock. More of a personal satisfaction to be had there.

He stood and paced the room, tryin' to think. He should sell 'em. Make a profit. Not like she'd ever come back for 'em. And even if she did, he'd tell her straight out what he'd done with 'em. He could almost see her temper flare, could feel the slap on his cheek. The sweet profanity on her otherwise delicate tongue amused him. Always had. But it would only serve to infuriate her more, seein' him smile at her attempts at bein' catty.

And what would she do if he told her he was only teasin' and that he'd kept 'em safe for her all along? How'd she react if he told her he liked seein' 'em, that he liked the reminder of her? That it were the last piece o' her he had left on his dreary l'il ship and he wanted to cling to that? He wanted to cling to the idea that, even if maybe she'd never come back for his sorry _pìgu_, that maybe she'd come back for the things she'd left behind and that he'd be granted one last chance o' rightin' his wrongs. Make everythin' okay betwixt the both of 'em.

He picked 'em up, piece by delicate piece and started to fold 'em neatly. Every single colour. The violet first, then the shiny gold, burgundy, rich red and finally, green. He weren't no good at bein' neat an' tidy but he'd wanted 'em to look proper for her.

'Sides, she'd need 'em that way when she came back and redecorated her shuttle.

When he was done with all the foldin', he carried the stack out with him and closed the door behind him. He could feel Kaylee and River both watchin' him. He was sure the rest o' the crew were payin' attention, too. But they all pretended like they weren't. Knew better than to interfere with the matters o' the heart. 'Specially when it came to their capt'n.

He made his way silently to his bunk, not lookin' at no one. He was afraid eye contact would reveal the weakness he had. So he went on his way, starin' at nothin' and thinkin' o' her. He climbed the ladder down into his room and walked towards the l'il chest in the corner. He kicked it open and tucked the stack inside, right beside a few o' her other trinkets she'd left lying around after she'd taken off. Forgotten, quite like him. Maybe he shoulda tucked himself inside that chest, too.

Just another thing she'd left behind.

Only he weren't as pretty or expensive or anywhere near as valuable as the others. Neither was his ship.

Not when she weren't on it, anyways.

That l'il splash o' colour that brightened it up jus' a bit, she took it with her when she left and no amount o' fancy or pretty silks were gonna be bringin' it back. There were just blacks, whites and greys now on Serenity. Because what was a ship without any love?

Only a ship, that's what.

An' an empty one at that.

_-fin_

** A/N: **_Sad, I know. But it's supposed to be. I personally feel like without Inara, Mal became a lot colder. To his crew, to everything around him. That little spark of his seemed to have faded out when she was gone. It's why he wasn't used to having her back so suddenly. Came as a bit of a shock to him. I think it must have been hard for him to have some of her things still lying around in her shuttle. So yes, tragic indeed. Then again, Mal is quite the tragic character. Anyways, Serenity was used here in reference to Mal. The ship is, essentially, part of Mal and who he is. I sort of used it as a direct metaphor in place of his heart. Dramatic affect without being overtly corny. :P Feedback is appreciated, as always. Translation to any mandarin used below author's note._

Mei-mei: Little sister

Qiú: Balls

Bèndàn: Idiot

Lèsè: Garbage

Pìgu: Ass


End file.
